Gatorella
by Kazakh Doom
Summary: Templeton isn't much of a hero. On the upside, blonde bimbo Jenny O'Hannorhan doesn't think so. On the downside, Gatorella, an aquatic monster who terrorizes the coasts of Austroasia, does. Can Templeton prove him wrong?
1. Chapter 1

In the seas off the coasts of Roman Austroasia, junks sail. For a time, but not for long, they remain unaware of certain dangers that lurk beneath.

There's a sea shallow enough for Gatorella to stand up in. So he does. He stands, stretches, and yawns. His skin is as tough as a reptile's. His lungs are about exhausted, from having to hold his breath for as long as he does.

He can't stand for long. Junks sail these waters.

He bats his nictitating membranes. They're still transparent, despite his age. And his nostrils and ears can still close at will. He's a giant, but at least he's not old.

From the shore, an aspiring hero watches, via binoculars. He's in awe. His name is Hannibal Tran. And he's come to slay the beast.

With one hand, Gatorella scrapes his claws together. They always produce sparks. He smiles, and forces a belch, while making sparks with his claws. For a brief, yet impressive, moment, he exhales fire.

Far away, Hannibal gapes. If he didn't revere Gatorella before, he sure does now.

Gatorella looks around. Hannibal hides behind a rock. The monster suspects nothing. Why should he? He makes a great white shark look like a leech. And they stopped bothering him decades ago.

Gatorella doesn't get it. It was just ONE tantrum...

A red pen falls from Hannibal's pack. Hannibal feels it, but doesn't react...yet.

Satisfied, Gatorella re-submerges, and swims away. Farther out, Hannibal beholds his dorsal fins as he dives.

Hannibal sighs, and collects the red pen that he dropped. He studies it. He nods. He starts thinking...

He thinks he can see a better path to slaying Gatorella that just might work. But where to start?


	2. Chapter 2

In the capital city of Roman Austroasia, a junta rules with iron hands. They've still got their predecessors' heads mounted on plaques.

The junta consists of a Romanian, a Portuguesefellow, two Vietnamesefolk, two Khmers, a Greek, and an Argentinian. For the most part, sharing the responsibility of ruling a country has been easy. Roman DeJarro, the Argentinian, has made sure of that. He's from an ethnic melting pot, and therefore moves and converses among the diverse junta the easiest.

In his office, DeJarro keeps many firearms, from all over the planet, in glass cases. He wouldn't want anyone else to know, but he keeps ammo for all of them in safes.

A pampas cat sits on his desk. He brushes him. He sure sheds a lot. In another timeline, he should; it can get cold on the South American pampas.

From his desk, a black phone rings. The cat rolls his eyes in disgust.

DeJarro answers. On the other end, what sounds like a huge panther roars, and makes demanding noises. Sometimes, when he hisses, DeJarro has to keep the phone away from his ear. DeJarro stammers, insists that he'll get back to whoever's on the other end, and hangs up.

He starts to go back to brushing the pampas cat. Alas, the cat leaps off his desk, and leaves.

That cat knows how all the other characters in a Meow Mix commercial, except Frank, feels when Baxter the Cat crashes one of their vacations with one of his annoyingly predictable phone calls. Except Frank's family was just annoyed; this pampas cat is jealous.

"Please," he shouts after him. "Half my success depends on him! I can't just ignore all of his calls! You are still my favorite!"

"Roman?" Yialouris, a member of the junta, sneaks in on him. "What's going on? Is this another widower thing?"

DeJarro sighs. "No, Silvanos. It's a personal thing. What is it?"

"That monster-chaser is back. He wants the same thing as before."

DeJarro scoffs. "Hannibal...the Gatorella-Slayer. Tell him to try me again when Gatorella contracts a terminal plague. As usual, we are not here to do a hero's work for him...if he truly is a hero, he will never need us."

"You know he's just going to keep coming back. He always does."

"Yes. And we will keep rejecting him. We always do. We are the government; if the people do the same thing over and over, they will get the same result. If we do not remind them of that, their neighbors won't. And then their neighbors will call us when they don't stop being repetitive problems."

Yialouris sighs, and returns to his job. Soon there'll be another junta meeting; DeJarro's presence will be required.

Smiling, DeJarro pulls a bottle of red wine out from the bottom drawer of his desk. He undoes the cork, and pours himself a shallow glass.

He toasts to a high-quality painting of Dionysus on the wall, and sips. Dionysus, who wears many gold necklaces in the portrait, seems pleased with the Argentine general...as he was probably pleased with everything, in the imaginations of the ancient Greeks.


	3. Chapter 3

On a nice beach, a couple basks in the sun. She's got a great body. And he's got a great face.

Her name is Jenny O'Hannorhan. She's a blonde bimbo. And she looks great in a leopard bikini.

He's Templeton. And he's... He's cuter than a frog.

She's on top of him. She's snoring. Templeton's smiling. Her back side is getting a GREAT tan.

His cock is hard. Her bare thighs are on either side of it.

"I want some ice cream," she mutters.

"Fine," he groans. "I'll get it for you." He doesn't move.

"Please don't." She cuddles with him more. "I prefer you."

"You're an indecisive one."

"Really?" She smiles, and yawns happily. "I thought you were."

"I guess that makes us codependents. With luck, that's no big deal."

"It's not." She rubs her blonde hair, and bare forehead, against his semi-hairy chest. "It's SO not."

They relax. For now, and for as long as it lasts, they've found destiny.

In the distant sky, Templeton hears something. It sounds like a helicopter. It sounds like several. Paranoid, he taps Ms. O'Hannorhan awake.

A recon helicopter approaches. It orbits the island. Trouble's on the way.

Before the love couple knows it, they're surrounded. They wear body armor, and point carbines down at them. Templeton stands, and holds his hands up.

"We're tourists," he tells them. "We're unarmed."

Jenny stays on the ground, and beholds her attackers. She can't tell they're tempted to equally behold her...


	4. Chapter 4

The mercs stand, surrounding Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan, aiming carbines at them. They both seem apologetic.

"You are of interest to the Junta," one says, through a vented mask. "You must come with us."

"We're not dangerous," Templeton insists. "You can put those away."

"Yes," Ms. O'Hannorhan insists. "Please."

A shadow looms over all of them. Ms. O'Hannorhan looks up first. She screams shrilly. The militiamen do to, once they see it.

It's Gatorella. He's sneaked up on them, deviously using the incoming militia unit as a distraction.

Heroically, the militia gets in front of Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan, and opens fire. They're insane; any idiot would know carbines don't hurt Gatorella.

Naturally, Gatorella grabs them all, and gives them concussions. He bites some of their heads off.

Taking Ms. O'Hannorhan's arm, Templeton runs. Behind them, a merc sees them and tries to shoot them. Gatorella pancakes him. Ms. O'Hannorhan almost falls over when the bullets fly; Templeton drags her away.

They run. They know they can't outrun Gatorella, but it's worth a shot.

He runs, catches up with them, and takes them in both his hands. They'rs scaly and wet, and his claws are sharp.

Over there, it looks like Ms. O'Hannorhan's getting the point of one of them. She's shaking within his grasp; or rather, she would be, if Gatorella was giving either of them wiggle-room.

Gatorella holds them both up to his eyes. Ms. O'Hannorhan looks into one, and shrieks.

Templeton wants to hold his ears...but can't, because Gatorella's grasp has got his arms pinned to the rest of his body. This seems hopeless.

Templeton thought he could be Ms. O'Hannorhan's hero. But now it looks like they're both going to die in vain.


	5. Chapter 5

This is an industrial park that proliferates weaponry. The AI who runs this place is either very crazy, or exceptionally good at pretending to be so.

A sign stands in front of the industrial park entrance. It's got a painting of a roaring tiger's head on it.

Hannibal Tran drives in, in a black jeep with a red stripe painted from its rear to its upper front doors. There's someone here whose help he might need.

He parks, and approaches the front door. He punches the doorbell button, and waits.

Above him, security cameras zoom in and out, towards his head and face. The lenses gawk and narrow...many times.

An android descends from the top story. He hovers, about a foot above the ground.

This is MURDOCK (**M**entally **U**nstable **R**oller **D**esigned **O**nly for **C**limbing **K**ilometers). When it comes to terrorist plots, he's a fucking mastermind.

On the roof of his facility, there's a fleet of hovercraft parked. They lack cockpits.

One bears a tank gun. It seems fearsome, even when its engines are off.

As they talk, Hannibal and MURDOCK walk in circles around the attack fleet. Hannibal describes his problem. MURDOCK listens. To him, it sounds interesting...

"DeJarro's regime is a scourge," he tells MURDOCK. "Someone's gotta get rid of it. I know where all of his precious assets are. I should; I once plotted to steal them all when he first rejected me when I asked him to finance my expedition against Gatorella." He looks around. "Speaking of whom, why haven't you killed either?"

"I have my reasons," MURDOCK says. "I need to be able to see my victims' faces when I murder them. As you can see, this air artillery isn't made for its optics. DeJarro is a hard man to capture. And Gatorella's a hard monster to get close to. I've also never been the type of android who kills or fights for myself."

"Well then, consider me your customer. DeJarro's rejected every request I've made for him to help me slay Gatorella. It's about time someone did to him what Gatorella will if no one does. I trust you to do that."

"I just have a couple of questions. First, why don't you just assassinate DeJarro yourself? Second, how else do you plan to slay Gatorella if not with DeJarro's support? Gatorella's a big gator."

"He isn't King Gator. _All Dogs Go to Heaven_ fans know that."

MURDOCK studies him.

"Fine, here's the answer to your first question. DeJarro's junta already knows that I have a personal reason for killing him. If I kill him right now, I'll become a suspect. Plus, I can assassinate a dictator any day; by now, I'd rather pay to have it done."

MURDOCK keeps studying him.

"As for your second question, I don't know. But then, I never know. I'm a hero. And heroes always put their job above their means. I know that's hard for you to understand, because you're an android, and you're smart. But I have a VERY firm feeling that if I said this to a human, they'd agree with me."

The android nods. "I was a human once, you know. I don't remember how it felt, but I do remember making that analysis of the hero type. Your answers make sense. However, I am not sure that this job you specify is worth my time. I need...seventy-two hours."

Hannibal arches his brows. "Isn't twenty-four economic protocol?"

"We are the black market. Our rules are flexible; as are mine too much."

"Not so sure I understand...but okay." Hannibal hesitates. He looks around, and surveys MURDOCK's air fleet. "May I make a recommendation?"

"Listening."

"I know of somewhere you can spend your time off. Are you taking recommendations?"

"No...but I will hear you."

"Okay, great. I'll text you the place. As a matter of fact, I'll text you several, and that way you'll have more variety. But wherever you go during your 72 hours, I hope you have a good time."

"My sensors are high-tech, but not completely inhuman. I am sure I will, wherever you send me. I'll make you a deal: if I enjoy myself, I won't charge you for recommending your...resorts."

"I appreciate that. Well," he claps his half-gloved hands, "better let you have your space again."

"Please don't. I may be an android, but I miss good company."

"Oh, I'm not good. You can count on that."

With that, Hannibal waits a day. He comes back the following night, hoping MURDOCK has taken time off away from his industrial park.

He breaks in. Dodging the security systems, he rigs many of MURDOCK's weapons.

While doing work beneath a helicopter, Hannibal takes a red pen from his raiment; the same pen he dropped that day at the shore. He closes his eyes, and smiles, as he deviously dreams of the plans he has in store for MURDOCK and DeJarro...


	6. Chapter 6

Bipedally, Gatorella takes Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan into his submarine island lair. He leaves them on the same rock, that's isolated from the lair's shores.

Ms. O'Hannorhan is petrified. Templeton likes the feel of her inflated ass against his groin...as mutually terrified as he is of their captor...

Gatorella's gone. They're alone in his lair.

Across the waters, there's a pile of ships' scrap. Templeton's got NO idea what Gatorella does with this. Part of him would rather not find out. Templeton can't help but wonder where he keeps the hull numbers, the ships' names, and the colors of the many ships he's probably torn to flotsam.

He's also drawn pictures on the lair walls. Templeton sure wishes he could decipher them.

Shafts open into the island's surface. Templeton sure wishes they were a more secure climb...or a more secure swim to where they'd have to climb...

"Templeton, I'm scared!" She guides his face with her hand. She looks into his eyes. "I don't know if I'm going to survive this!"

Templeton nods, nervously. "We will," he says. "I don't know, but we will. We will go back to wherever we were...whatever that is."

She smiles, and kisses him. He doesn't know if she should.

She gets on top of him, and makes out with him. Her boobs inflate. Her ass inflates. Templeton never gets over how gorgeous she is in that leopard bikini. He's glad she came here with him. For once, he isn't scared that Gatorella's going to cook them...or why ever else Gatorella wouldn't pan-simmer two fresh humans he's caught.


	7. Chapter 7

It's MURDOCK's big day. He gets to topple a government; something he's ALWAYS wanted...

He's got a fleet of hovercraft. It's all ready to fly. It spins its rotors. It flies in circles, and tests its armament.

Among it all, an android flies. Around, he's joined by other, different-looking androids. MURDOCK himself wears a shaded visor over his eyes. He breathes through a vented mask that covers his nose and mouth.

Back in the capital, DeJarro assembles his junta. They all come. They're all unarmed. Or, so they'd like each other to THINK...

DeJarro takes a Henry rifle out of a glass case. It's lever-action, and a .45-caliber. Its bullets pack a punch. And they can fire WAY more than one at once...just as long as the lever is pulled after each trigger-pull.

Down on the ground, Hannibal Tran wanders through the capital's streets. He tries to look small. Others see him...and smile. He's surprised he hasn't become a laughingstock.

He looks around, and up. The tallest tower stands high over the capital. Hannibal MUST get to its summit. He has to be seen saving the city...

On a window cleaner's elevator, Hannibal rises to the occasion. He doesn't dare look down...until he's more than halfway up the tower's wall. He smiles. He LOVES it when he puts himself in danger...

He reaches into his vest, and pulls out a red pen. It may not seem like much...but he's depending on it, for whatever financial support he needs to slay Gatorella.

High above, MURDOCK and his air cavalry approach. The capital is looming into their weapons' sights...

Around the junta's mansion, the windows seem shadowy. All is quiet around it...

From inside, lightning appears to flash...eight times. The thunder is loud...but doesn't shake the ground.

From formation, the cavalry UAVs separate, and attack different parts of the city. Some do it with gas. Others do it with sonic weapons. Others do it with rockets that release multiple munitions while in flight.

Throngs of people scream. Hannibal hates to let them suffer...but some people have to get hurt to convince the junta that Hannibal's services were necessary.

Hovering, MURDOCK meets Hannibal. They're not close...but they can see each other. From below, many locals can see MURDOCK. They can tell he's responsible for this air raid...

Nearby, the air raid siren is wailing. The capital is all in an uproar.

"Ahoy, good dear sir," MURDOCK says, faking an accent. "Nice morning for a government-toppling, do you not think?"

Hannibal sighs, takes the red pen, and bites off its cap. He closes one eye, and aims it at MURDOCK's head.

MURDOCK tilts his head. "What on earth are you doing, Dear Sir Knight?"

From below, locals watch, as a red laser flashes off the tower roof, and blows MURDOCK's head off. Several women scream.

Everywhere, all of MURDOCK's cavalry UAVs crash and burn. After some time, the last explosion's noise falls silent. Just like that, the city's been saved. Funny; Hannibal would've thought that MURDOCK would've been smart enough to program his legacy to outlast his life...if he thought he was ever going to die.

Back at the junta's mansion, DeJarro staggers to reload his Henry rifle. It's still hot.

The TV is on. The reporter struggles not to sing praises to Hannibal Tran, who's just saved the city, and hence the country, from one of the scariest air raids in its history. For unknown reasons, the intellectual entity MURDOCK attempted to use a small air force of attack UAVs to raze the city to the ground. As MURDOCK hovered over the tallest tower, preparing to decapitate it, who should emerge from the tower's penthouse, but Hannibal Tran, strong and brave, as he decapitated MURDOCK's command module with a laser weapon, and miraculously cut off the head of the snake on a whim, ending the invasion almost the instant it began...

DeJarro stares at the TV as it tells the story. He chuckles; he honestly didn't think Hannibal was worth anything. In any case, Hannibal's timing couldn't be more perfect. As of a few moments ago, there's much more money in the country's treasury for DeJarro to spend...

DeJarro grabs the phone on his desk, and dials a short number. He waits, with the Henry rifle's still-cooling barrel still in his hand.

On the other end of the line, a loud and scary noise is made. It sounds like a roar.

"Yes, B.A., I know, I do too. Listen, I'm going to need you to come over. Daddy's made a bit of a mess. I'll be waiting."

With that, he hangs up. He walks back to the rifle's glass case, and puts it away.

He walks in circles, around the room. The bodies of eight dead men, all in military uniforms, are strewn about the place.

Yialouris lies among them. He was dressed in an updated Spartan uniform; helmet, spear, armor, shield, and Λs.

"You've all been a very patient audience," DeJarro tells their corpses. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got Gatorella to finance the termination of. And I hope you don't take it personally, but Hannibal Tran's funds for the project will be coming out of your paychecks." With that, he vanishes into another room, and closes the doors. He locks them tightly. He slithers away, and attends to his smaller cat.

From behind the doors, a panther-like monster slithers in, and makes macabre noises as he feasts on the late junta's corpses. From the inside, blood splatters against the windows.

One of these splatters is so loud, it spooks a flock of sparrows from a myrtle tree. Some flaming debris from one of MURDOCK's attacks on the capital flies through the sky, and lands in an olive tree on the junta mansion lawn, setting it ablaze...


	8. Chapter 8

Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan are still stuck in the same cave on the same island. They've NO idea how they're going to escape their monstrous captor's wrath...

Ms. O'Hannorhan makes out with him...again. She's still in her revealing leopard bikini. Templeton just loves the feel of her wide forehead against his sensitive parts... His nose often finds itself stuck in her boobs...

Clearly, the stress of being captured by a giant alligator-mutant has made Ms. O'Hannorhan more sex-hungry. It may be, after all, the last sex she gets to have before Gatorella makes him and Templeton a brace of olives in his next martini...if he drinks those.

Templeton is honored, and flattered, that Ms. O'Hannorhan keeps calling him a hero. Alas, in this state, Templeton couldn't feel any less like one. Gatorella is going to eat them both. And there's nothing he can do to protect either of them...or Roman Austroasia.

The ground shakes. The water in the cave makes waves. On the shore near the cave wall, some bones on a whale's skeleton jiggle loose, and fall over. This is what causes Ms. O'Hannorhan to finally take a breath, turn over, and dread Gatorella's judgment...

He's back. Just inside the cave entrance, he surfaces from the water. Templeton isn't sure why he does that. He reminds him of a boss he once had...

He ascends, and approaches. He's got a tuna in one clawed hand, and a Humboldt squid in the other. Templeton's disappointed; if the squid were a giant, and still writhing, he'd able to...NOT get the thing on camera, because he doesn't have one of those. And hence, the "never been filmed" record of the giant squid would remain unbroken...

(In reality, it _has_ been broken, once... But from what I've read, that's been the ONLY time...)

Ms. O'Hannorhan crawls back on the rock, and whimpers. Templeton inadvertently puts his hand on her thigh, so that she doesn't crawl over the edge...or worse, get pounced on by Gatorella before she can.

Templeton has never known Ms. O'Hannorhan to be suicidal. OTOH, she IS a bimbo...

Gatorella looks scary. He stands tall, over his two human guests. Ms. O'Hannorhan whimpers, closes her eyes, and dreads the worst. Templeton breathes, looks up, and anticipates the same, prepared to face whatever wrath to whatever end...

Gatorella holds up his two catches. _Feeding time, _he says in a deep telepathic voice. _I've brought you a tuna and a squid_. He drops both on either side of them.

Ms. O'Hannorhan screams. The squid still writhes, and reaches towards her with its tentacles...

Templeton loses control, pounces on the monster, and wrestles it into submission. Alas, it wraps its arms around his throat, and starts strangling him.

Ms. O'Hannorhan screams, too terrorized to help her man. Templeton's eyes bug, and he would say his final Hail Mary...if only his own apocalypse allowed him the breath.

Gatorella impales the squid through just the right region, killing it. Its arms go limp, and Templeton breathes.

Above, Gatorella sighs and shakes his head. His exhale knocks Ms. O'Hannorhan over.

_O, dear Templeton_, the monster telepathically laments. _O how your nation has not lent you its power._

Templeton stares up at him. "Do you mind?! There's a girl here with me! We're taking time to ourselves out here!"

"And why did you kidnap us?!" Ms. O'Hannorhan struggles to fix her blonde hair. "What've we done to you? And if you're not going to eat us, then what else is there?"

_You are no hero, Templeton. I have seen more of your heroism than you can recall...and it's cheap, in contrast to how I've seen better men try to slay me._

"I don't know if you've noticed," Templeton complains, "but I'm not really the hero type. I don't doubt that my heart is pure enough, but it takes power and cunning to slay a monster; I've neither."

_Yes. I can tell. But thankfully, I know of a smaller challenge for you; smaller, yet no less dangerous. If not for him, the local junta wouldn't have the power to subdue Roman Austroasia, or make itself the only thing in Indochina more fearsome than I._

Templeton gapes. "Oh, well... If THAT'S what the government owes its power source to, then I've suddenly stopped wondering why it's still afraid of you. I also still haven't figured out as to how you're strong enough to destroy ten of the junta's regimes, and haven't even come after number one!"

_It's quite simple, really. I'm a monster. I can't rule a human society. I'm not human enough to sympathize with human concerns. _

Ms. O'Hannorhan chuckles. "That sure didn't keep Godzilla from claiming Tokyo as his own, did it?"

_I am not Godzilla. Godzilla was fiction. Besides, humans would have to pay me taxes. I'm a monster; I have no use for human specie. _

Templeton chuckles. "Well; Godzilla sure wouldn't have used those pathetic excuses to not destroy a government; hostile or benevolent."

_I do not want a government. I want what's right for the public welfare. _

Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan both stare up at him.

_I know; I get it. I'm a monster, and I eat the public welfare for breakfast, right? If the public suffers, nature suffers too. I can only create a worse world for humans, as long as the locals have both the junta and me to fear. I never ask for their terror, believe it or not. To them, I just LOOK scary. I know not how or why I was made. I just know that I am just as reluctant to die as many of you humans are; it is only natural for a creature to want to preserve himself and keep himself alive._

Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan still stare up at him. Templeton puts his fists on his bare hips.

_Now, the Baracus makes the Roman Austroasian public just as afraid of him as I do of myself, by habit. I need you,_ he points a claw down at Templeton, _Templeton Peck, to relieve me of the crowding his politics cause mine. _

"Whoa, whoa, back up," Templeton holds up his hands. "Why can't you just kill the Baracus yourself?"

"Back up even farther," Ms. O'Hannorhan adds. "What's a baracus?"

Gatorella sighs. _There is a feliform, a panther-mutant of sorts, that does the junta's bidding. His role is mostly administrative. He is virtually the only thing that keeps the public from rising up against the junta-that, and most of them are probably too stupid to realize that they're being oppressed by their state's rule. _

"Easy now," Templeton mutters. "You DO realize that Ms. O'Hannorhan here is a bimbo?"

Ms. O'Hannorhan pushes Templeton over.

_The Baracus must be stopped. I need you to do it. _

"You still haven't told me why...or _how_, even."

_I can't walk on land. I mean, I CAN, but I'm not as secure on it. And neither is humanity. Plus, they'd have a better advantage with me walking than they ever do with me swimming. _

Templeton chuckles. "You sure seem to wade through the sea quite well."

_I don't all the time. If you ever wonder what I do when humans don't sight me, I'm swimming. And I must, most of the time, to stay sane. For most humans, it's comparable to being inside on a cold day...if anyone around here knows what that's like. _

"Excuse me," Ms. O'Hannorhan demands, "but I'm a blonde! Do I look like a local to you?!"

"Calm down, Ms. O'Hannorhan." Templeton turns back to Gatorella. "Very well, I'll take your word for it. I don't usually do this, but I accept your challenge." He studies Ms. O'Hannorhan. "I would never dream of refusing it."

"Ooh," Ms. O'Hannorhan bubbles, "I get to see a nice boy slay a monster! This is so exciting!"

_Very well._ Gatorella lends both of his hands. _I'll take you to shore. From there, you go alone._

"Wait," Templeton holds up both his index fingers. "Do you know where the Baracus is being kept?"

_No. But I think I know of a way you can find out._


	9. Chapter 9

All along the coast, the Roman Austroasian Navy mobilizes. The combat fleet is now under Hannibal Tran's command.

For this, Hannibal has three warships under his command: the _Lynch_, the _Decker_, and the _Crane_. They're all the best in their respective classes; as are their captains and crews...as DeJarro described them when he handed over command of them to Roman Austroasia's latest hero, Hannibal Tran.

It's official; Hannibal Tran's been deputized into the Roman Austroasian Offense Force. He doesn't wear a uniform, but he dresses for the part. His utility belt is overstocked, and ready to wield. And that's not all he's got...

Out into the South China Sea, the Fleet sails. The _Lynch_, _Decker_, and _Crane_ all do their nation proud, as far as nautical speed is concerned. Naturally, that's never super-fast. But then, if it were, no one would be able to stand on the weather decks without getting blown away.

Fog surrounds them. Hannibal stands on the _Lynch_'s bow, observing conditions. He's got a telescope handy. Alas, it won't do him much good in this fog.

A few moments later, it ceases to be necessary. A much bigger fleet, of the People's Liberation Army Navy, looms towards the Fleet's port. Their ships are MUCH bigger. And they are VERY intimidating.

Hannibal sure hopes they're not here to blow them out of the water. These sailors can't gun the crap out of Gatorella if they're swimming among flotsam in the sea, trying to salvage wet gunpowder.

I know; navies don't use gunpowder anymore. It's just a saying...

On the forecastle of the _Crane_, a junior sailor waves a signal to the People's Liberation Army Navy. In a few moments, Hannibal supposes they'll all know if the PLA Navy gets the memo.

Hannibal watches. The bigger warships bring themselves about, and sail away. Hannibal hopes they get as far away from these waters as they can, and stay there. He'd hate for Gatorella to become their problem.

It's not that Hannibal fears for anyone in the PLA Navy's territory; far from it. But if anyone else besides himself gets the credit for slaying Gatorella, he'll never forgive himself.

He lights a cigar, and smiles. "I love it when the PLAN comes together," he wisecracks.


	10. Chapter 10

At long last, DeJarro is alone in his efforts to rule Roman Austroasia. Relaxing and confident in his victory, he practices with his shotgun just behind his mansion.

From behind, a man approaches him. He wears a uniform. DeJarro deliberately ignores him. He takes a break, and reloads his shotgun...

Harlan Fulbright stands nervously, and watches the country's new military dictator. He hesitates to speak.

"I'm busy here, Fulbright," DeJarro reminds him. "If you're here to talk, please do."

Fulbright nods. "Mr. Tran's fleet is outward-bound. There's still no sign of Gatorella. They narrowly avoided a clash with the PLAN."

"Don't worry about that. He doesn't know what it is."

"No, I mean the People's Liberation Army Navy; the navy of the Sino-Tibetan communists. Is...there some other 'plan' I should know about."

DeJarro hesitates, seals the breech of his shotgun, and smiles at Fulbright. "Absolutely not. The reins of your country couldn't be in more secure and capable hands, Chief Fulbright." DeJarro returns to "home plate," and keeps shooting.

Fulbright's still there. DeJarro slows down, sighs, and allows him to speak.

"The people are worried, sir. The rest of the junta has left, and not said, or announced, when they'll be back."

"I told you; they're on important business." He fires his shotgun. "They didn't tell me what. I'm almost dishonored that the public expects me to wonder." He fires again. "I'm paid to tolerate them, in case they can't tell."

"Of course. It just seems suspicious, that they've mysteriously disappeared on the same day that MURDOCK attacked the capital."

DeJarro hesitates. "I swear to you, that's a coincidence. I didn't ask MURDOCK to attack us. No one expected him to."

"I...didn't suggest that MURDOCK was responsible for the junta's disappearance, sir."

DeJarro hesitates again, and stares at Fulbright. "You do realize that this is a shotgun, don't you, Bull?"

Fulbright hiccups, and nods. "No intention of challenging you, sir."

"Good. Now, I do believe your job won't wait for you..."

"I miss my daughter, sir. When can I see you again."

DeJarro sighs, and lays down the shotgun. He turns to Fulbright, and puts his hands on his hips.

"I keep telling you, Bull. Your daughter's away on a very important assignment. I need her. But if I ever don't, I'll send her to visit you."

"She's in danger. And you know it. Please, just let me know if she's alive. I promise I won't ask for proof if you just tell me the truth."

"Yes. She's alive. If not, we'd all be in grave danger. And I mean that." He crosses his arms. "Now; will there be anything else?"

Fulbright bows out. "No sir. Please; enjoy your shooting...if you haven't already." With that, Fulbright shuffles away.

DeJarro shakes his head. He should take his shotgun and shoot Fulbright in the back right now...but he doesn't. Fulbright poses no threat to his new regime. He's merely an annoying family man who can't adjust to empty nest syndrome.

DeJarro doesn't understand. His workplace's nest hasn't been empty for very long, and he couldn't be more used to it...

Outside the front of the mansion, Fulbright mounts his black car. He drives away. Naturally, his car has government license plates. He's as good as this country's minister of justice, considering that DeJarro nor his late junta partners preferred civilians in their cabinet-or at least, not in the roles of justice, defense, or homeland security minister...

The rest of the junta has been butchered. Fulbright just knows it...

On the dashboard, he keeps a photo of his daughter. She bears alarming resemblance to Tia Carrere in her younger years...

Fulbright's lost in thought. He sees the road, but doesn't think heavily of it.

A beautiful blonde crosses in front of him. She stops.

Fulbright cusses, and smashes the brakes, within nths of hitting-and-running her. She smiles, flaps her hair, and waves.

From the backseat, Templeton rises from his cover, and points a pistol at Fulbright's neck. "Do as we say," he promises, "and you won't likely leave this car in a body bag."

Fulbright nods. Ms. O'Hannorhan wags her ass as she gets into the passenger seat of the car, and keeps flirting with Fulbright.

At Templeton's command, the Bull drives his black car into a car wash. Inside, Templeton puts the pistol away.

"Don't bother to radio for help," Templeton advises him, holding up a strange wired device in his hand. "I've already made sure it won't work."

"You're good," Fulbright admits. "What do you want from me?"

"We've been told that you know how to get to the Baracus." Templeton cocks his pistol. "Care to elaborate?"

Fulbright looks at the photo of his daughter on the dashboard. Ms. O'Hannorhan collects it in her hands, and admires it.

"That's my daughter," Fulbright says. "Her name is Tia. Under Gen. DeJarro's command, she cares for the Baracus. I almost never see her."

"So," Templeton smiles, "I take it that you'd revolt against the government if you thought it meant a happy reunion with your daughter?"

"I'd risk everything if I did," DeJarro admits. "But yes."

Templeton removes the bullets from the pistol. "Very well. Tell us where she cares for the Baracus, and we'll do our best to protect your daughter...assuming she doesn't kill us first."

"That's likely. Aside from being the Baracus's tamer, she's VERY proficient at martial arts."

"Sounds hot. No offense, Ms. O'Hannorhan."

Ms. O'Hannorhan scoffs.

"Now," Templeton reminds him, "where, and how, assuming that there are any additional checkpoints separating us from her...besides the Baracus's jaws, I mean."

"He doesn't just have jaws. He's got claws as well. He's also got one of the crazies manes running along his back that I've only seen on a certain species of civet that I've seen in occasional Africa-themed documentaries..."

As the car passes through the wash, Templeton and Ms. O'Hannorhan listen to Fulbright intently...


	11. Chapter 11

A metal pail sits alone, in the Austroasian jungle. It's full of raw steaks. One more falls into it. And another...

An underdressed Austroasian chick picks up the pail, as heavy as it is, and hauls it to a truck full of steaks. She dumps the pail full into the back, with all the others.

She may look like a much younger, and hotter, version of Tia Carrere. But this is Tia Fulbright, half-Austroasian daughter of Harlan Fulbright. Don't let her cute looks fool you; somewhere inside that tiny body is a vicious killer. She has to be; she's a slave girl that attends to the ferocious Baracas.

She drives the truck through the jungle. She stops at a gate.

The gate opens for her. It opens for few others...

She drives through it. Behind her, it closes itself.

She drives around a clearing, and stops. She puts it in reverse, and backs into the clearing's middle. Here, she dumps the load. Wipers engage themselves within the back, and wipe all of the meat grease into the meat pile.

Tia pulls away, and puts it in park. She comes back out, with a gong and mallet in hand. She stands near the meat...but not too near. Trembling a bit-both because she's exposed, and because she's afraid-she hammers the gong.

Far away, many leaves rustle. Something very large roars. Many birds cry out, and fly away. From here, Tia can hear the flaps of all their wings...

Thunder approaches. Tia looks around, like a scared little girl, for its source...

A shadow darts here and there. It's huge. Tia never sees its source. After some time, it settles down.

Something in a grove of trees moves. It's huge. Trembling even more, Tia strikes the gong one more time.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," she says under her breath.

A moment passes. And then, a very big black paw emerges from the grove, and sets itself down. It's claws are like metal. Its paws are MUCH bigger than trash can lids.

The Baracas emerges from the jungle. It's big, and resembles a black panther, striped hyena, African civet, mongoose, and fossa at the same time. It has a mane on its back, that runs from its forehead all the way to his rump. On him, it looks like a Mohawk haircut.

Many gold collars, and chains, hang from his neck. From one collar, a sole tag hangs. And on it, the Baracus's name is engraved:

**PITIUS FULUS**

The beast roars, and scares a lot of birds in the jungle. He mouths his roar to where it sounds like he's saying, "I pity the fool!"; hence his name.

Other options included Bosco, Dionysus, Badius Attitudus, Ukrazius Fulus, and Iantus Flyinus. Alas, he only seemed to like Pitius Fulus; so that's what it is.

Tia trembles, and points her arms at the meat. "I brought your grub," she tells him. "Please. Eat?"

He acknowledges her, and purrs. His mohawk is raised, and flattened. Far below, Tia is still tensed. He usually lets her go...but she never expects him to.

As usual, he lies down on his belly, and rests his head on his paws...albeit he keeps watching her. Tia nods, backs, and slithers into the cockpit of the truck.

She drives away. She knows she shouldn't, but she watches the pile of meat in the rearview mirror.

She watches, as the Baracus eats. She knows she shouldn't watch...but sometimes she just can't help herself.

This is what Tia does for the Baracus, as dangerous as it seems. And so, one can understand Harlan's concern...and his desire to see DeJarro either killed or imprisoned, if he isn't going to stop. No one expects him to. Everyone wants him to.


	12. Chapter 12

Back in the city, MURDOCK's body still lies in front of the tower. Somehow, nobody's picked it up since the attack.

All around, people walk past it. There's been talk of turning it into a war memorial...

Night falls over the city. Street lamps light. The streets clear...but not all the way. Some people still wander here and there...

Cold as stone, MURDOCK's body lies. It's the same as it ever was...

Lo and behold, MURDOCK twitches. A passing damsel stops, when she hears it. She studies the android body, curious. She waits. Nothing happens. She shrugs, and starts to walk away...

Just then, the body breaches. It rises high into the air, exhibits a decent hang time, and comes back down on its feet, right in front of his admirer. He's headless. He bows to her, and shows her his neck-hole.

She screams and runs, of course. She can tell she's not human...and yet, she reacts as if he was...

MURDOCK mimics Frank Sinatra, and begs her pardon. He bows, and dances into the city square. He salvages part of his head, and puts it somewhere where the locals can drop coin into it. With that, he dances around, continues to mimic Frank Sinatra, and sings many of his songs, all night...

Initially, a lot of people scream and run. Some stare at him, in fright. Others smile, and drop coins into his head-piece. Soon, they all are...

Fullbright drives by, on his usual rounds. He sees MURDOCK disturbing the peace, and reaches for the siren button on the dash...

He hesitates. He studies MURDOCK. He's not hurting anybody. On the contrary, he might actually be inspiring Austroasia to rise up against DeJarro's rule...

Fullbright smiles, and continues his rounds. It seems that Saigon now has a headless street musician to show for...who sounds exactly like Frank Sinatra...


	13. Chapter 13

Precariously, into rainy and shadowy waters, the _Lynch_, _Decker_, and _Crane_ venture. This is a suicide mission...and every Roman Austroasian sailor, power projector, and sealifter under Hannibal's command knows it.

He stands on the bow of the _Decker_, anticipating the worst. He's dressed as an 18th-century sea captain.

On the bridges, DeJarro hasn't tried to contact Hannibal once. Hannibal has never been thus trusted...

The sonar is on, and searching. It has yet to detect anything bigger than a whale...

Proudly, Hannibal pulls out a telescope, extends it, and stares out across the open plain of sea water. He doesn't see anything, of course. But even so, the art still inspires...centuries after its needs have been replaced by radar, ball caps, and ship's bridges. Hannibal is all about style.

Some might even daresay, after all this time, that he's on the jazz...

At long last, the sonar detects something. It's not a whale...and it sure as hell isn't an undersea mountain. With that, the alarm on the sonar goes off. A sailor verifies it, and in turn, sounds a shipboard alarm.

All hands report to deck, and man their stations. The alarms of all three ships blare. The boatswain's mates, gunners, and masters-at-arms all arm themselves with shotguns and pistols. They all know they can't arm themselves enough.

A hatch in the ship's armament opens. Multiple warbots fly out, armed and ready for action. They hover in the sky, and wait for Hannibal's command. They all know to expect it...

The _Lynch_, _Decker_, and _Crane_ assemble in a semicircle, around where the sonar tells them to. On their forecastles, their main guns emerge from hatches in the decks, rotate on swivels, and aim themselves at every possible direction into the sky. Whoever knew that gunnery could be so flexible? The barrels slide back and forth, against their inner selves, and reload themselves.

On the _Decker_'s forecastle, junior sailors arm Hannibal with his prized body armor. It takes a while...

Before all three bows, the surface stirs. The monster approaches...

Ah, where's the monster when you need him?

At long last, his head breaks the surface. And it's a pointed break; Gatorella's crested. And he doesn't stop there. His big yellow eyes appear. As do both of his flaring nostrils. As do his fangs. As does his scale-plated chest. As do his burly arms. As do his fierce claws...

He towers high over all three ships. He dwarfs everything in sight. He flexes his muscles, and slowly extends them. Both of his elbows pop, sending a loud explosive noise far over the sea; some of the sailors jolt in their armor.

Gatorella claps his hands, and rubs them together. His clapping causes a wind, that blows many sailors overboard.

"VOLLEY," Hannibal commands.

All around, Austroasia's sailors load, and aim. They all aim for Gatorella's head...regardless of their chances.

SHOOT IN VAIN, HANNIBAL TRAN, Gatorella sneers, telepathically. I AM GATORELLA. MY ARMOR IS STEEL. AND MY WILL IS MORE THAN ALL OF YOU.

"FIRE!"

The gunnery fires. In the sky, the warbots fire everything. The sailors empty their shotguns, and pistols. The automatic shotguns and machine pistols rattle, as they assume the front lines.

STAY YOUR GUNNERY, HANNIBAL TRAN, Gatorella says telepathically, as if the munitions didn't hurt him. THIS QUARREL IS BETWEEN ME AND YOU...ISN'T IT, REALLY?

They keep firing. Gatorella keeps standing.

WHY DON'T YOU TELL THEM WHY THEY'RE REALLY HERE? PERHAPS YOUR LOYAL SERVANTS WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHOSE IDEA IT REALLY WAS, FOR M.U.R.D.O.C.K. TO ATTACK SAIGON THAT DAY?

Like loyal sailors, Hannibal's warriors keep giving Gatorella the volley. Not only to they not ask Hannibal why they're there, but they don't think about it. That's not the job. They will serve Hannibal down to their last breath...as necessary as it might or might not be.

From the _Crane_'s stern, the colors of the Austroasian navy fly right off the pole, and into the wind...


	14. Chapter 14

These are the jungles of Austroasia. A road runs through them...

In a Corvette, Templeton drives, until he feels confident. Here, he parks.

Across the ditch, a wire fence extends, for clicks in both directions. Beyond, the jungle is treacherous.

Templeton helps Jenny out. They both travel to the back of the car, and unload what they'll need to hunt and slay the Baracus.

"I don't know about this, Templeton," Ms. O'Hannorhan admits. "If the Baracus turns out to be more dangerous than Gatorella…"

"Gatorella didn't hurt us." Templeton loads a pair of pistols. "The Baracus will. I've never slayed him before, so you'll have to bear with me."

"Uh... Do you even know what a Baracus IS?"

"I've heard it's some kind of panther. Don't ask me from who."

"But...it's more dangerous than Gatorella. Gatorella himself won't even come ashore, to slay it!"

"He says he's strictly aquatic. And I believe him." He loads a machine gun, and gives it to Ms. O'Hannorhan. She handles it with WAY too much care. "We gotta do this. We can't just leave Roman Afroasia in the shithole it's in now, with DeJarro on the throne..."

"Hello?! DeJarro's the fucking dictator of this country! We're practically going to war with a god! Doesn't this bother you?!"

Templeton chuckles, loading a grenade launcher. "In many alternate realities, I've slayed four seasons worth of gods!"

Ms. O'Hannorhan narrows her eyes, and gapes, confused...

In the jungle, they hear a roar. They freeze, and listen. That sounded terrifying. Templeton's also pretty sure that that was NOT a leopard's...

"We're within range," Templeton whispers. "I can feel it."

"I can too," Ms. O'Hannorhan whispers, her machine gun-filled hands trembling. "I don't know if I can take it..."

"You have to, if you care about these people. DeJarro won't, Gatorella won't, Hannibal Tran can't, and MURDOCK can't. Now stay in front of me. Try not to keep your finger too close to that trigger."

With wire-cutters, Templeton cuts a hole though the wire. Ms. O'Hannorhan ducks through it, and creeps forth. So does Templeton, right behind her. They prowl through the forest, waiting for the Baracus to show himself...if he will...

There is one advantage to this. Templeton gets to ogle Ms. O'Hannorhan's cutoffs-clad ass, and bare upper back, all the way from here to wherever the Baracus attacks them...


	15. Chapter 15

In slow and easy steps, Templeton creeps through the jungle. His ears are always open...as unlikely as it still seems he'd be able to hear the Baracus coming if it came.

He's armed with a grenade launcher. He's pretty sure it'll take more than that to slay the Baracus. Even so, he can't afford to come unprepared. The ground force, where he's from, taught him preparation; he's merely practicing what he knows.

He rotates, and looks up into the trees. He doesn't see anything up there unusual, of course, but... He sure wishes the Baracus would make this easier...even if he did have to die.

Onward, through the jungle he wanders. Where could he be?

He hears a noise. He wheels around, and points his grenade launcher. He listens. There's no repetition.

He shrugs, and keeps creeping. That didn't sound big enough to be...

From above, an Austroasian femme yells, leaps, and hits Templeton in the head with the butt of a firearm. Before Templeton can resist, he falls over.

She mounts him, and punches him in the face several times. He resists. She punches him more. He reaches for his grenade launcher; she grapples him, and keeps him from it...

In a way, Face is enjoying this. Alas, he wouldn't expect Ms. O'Hannorhan to understand, if she walked in on this...

At last, the Austroasian chick knocks him out.

Templeton wakes. He's hanging upside down, from a rope in a tree, in a clearing.

Nearby, his attacker sits, with her bare legs exposed. She chuckles, and twirls some of Templeton's jewels around her finger.

Templeton looks down...up, from his captor's POV. He sighs, when he sees he's wearing Bond girl-patterned briefs.

"You're trespassing," she reminds him. "Care to tell me why?"

"What assurance do I have you won't kill me if I tell you?"

"The same assurance you have that I won't kill you if you don't tell me."

"Fine." Templeton heaves a sigh. He listens for the Baracus...although he's pretty sure that if he was going to come, his captor would know more about that than him. "I'm here to kill the Baracus."

She smiles, stands, and gathers a pistol in her hand. Templeton sighs, and dreads his timely end...

She aims it high, and shoots. Templeton falls...but not to his death. He hits his head...but that's as intense as it gets. Moments pass before he realizes he's still alive.

She stands over him, and offers to help him up. Templeton scoffs, waves her away, and closes his eyes, nourishing his sore head.

"I'm not...doing this to beat you up more. I'm trying to help you up."

Still unsure, he accepts. She helps him up.

"My name is Tia," she tells him. "I'm the junta's gamekeeper...or rather, I was, before DeJarro killed his partners. Now it's just him. And now there's cat scat all over this jungle with his partners' remnants still in it."

"TMI," Templeton warns her. "I came here with someone else. Have you seen her?"

She shrugs. "I didn't see you come in. I was practicing my Indiana Jones bullwhip tricks when I first noticed you out here."

"Will you help me kill the Baracus? Otherwise, our relationship can only advance so much more on what it's got...as much as I'd love to stand here and get to know you more."

She sighs, and slaps him on the chest. "Lucky for you, I want the Baracus dead too. DeJarro would probably execute me if he heard me say that...but then, he can't execute anyone if we destroy his ax. And the Baracus is his ax."

"I can sure believe that. Where is it?"

"It usually comes when I call it. Until then," she looks around, "it's best to keep serious thoughts of killing him to a whisper."

"Of course," Templeton whispers. "Cat ears are very sensitive; I know."

"But first, let's find your friend. If the Baracus has found her first, this'll be a lot harder."

"Yeah," Templeton stammers. "I was afraid of that..."

Now Templeton's worried he just sent Ms. O'Hannorhan off to her doom. But hopefully, with Tia's guidance, he can get to her before the Baracus does...or before the Baracus gets to all three of them...with the latter being the most likely to happen first...


	16. Chapter 16

All across the South China Sea, debris is now strewn. These were once three great Roman Austroasian warships: the _Lynch_, the _Decker_, and the _Crane_.

Here lies the flotsam of the _Lynch_. Among it, a corpse, belonging to Cpl. Stohlman, lies. In life, he was a merc. His wallet, and the many cards in it, are adrift around him. It seems Stohlman wasn't completely honest about himself with his crew...

Thomas Flagg's robot parts lie among the flotsam...and jetsam, for those that can be salvaged. In life, he wore an exosuit into battle. They called him Ironside…

Gabe Leroy and Sam Burns lie among the dead. In life, they both fought with lever-action firearms...

Quade lies among the dead, too. He's still in his kung fu robe...

Marion's corpse lies here, too. In life, he could generate fire. He was from Oklahoma...

Vern's corpse is here, too. In life, he could transform into a hog when he got angry...

The corpse of Lt. Summers is here, too. In life, he had some serious memory issues. There was a business card, in his wallet, for Ellery Queen...

A captain's body floats adrift, too. Tran vaguely remembers him as a member of the board at the court-martial of Lieutenant William Calley…

The corpse of Pete Kolodny, a master-at-arms, is here, too. Nearby, his wallet floats adrift. There's a business card, for a PI named Rockford...

Sgt. Callahan's corpse is here, too. In life, New Georgia was almost always on his mind. Rumor has it that he's descended from a warplane pilot in the WWII-era Black Sheep Squadron...

Agent 10's corpse is among the _Lynch_'s dead, too.

Stader's among the dead, too. He was a supersoldier-in-training. For him, death happened way too soon...

Agent 9's corpse is among the dead, too.

Colin's corpse is among the dead, too. He was a musician's mate. Indeed, it seems he's played his last song...

The first officer's corpse is here, too. His name was Matland. He had a lot of green in his pockets. Rumor has it he had a lot of connections with a lot of millionaires in Dallas, Texas...

Sgt. Marty Urbancic is here, too, in his corpsman's uniform. He's even got a Red Dharma wheel painted on one of the ass cheeks of his trousers... He sure went on a lot of helicopter rides, in life. He also got vomited on a lot...

The corpse of a spec-ops man is here. His name, in life, was Norm White.

A framed picture, of Babe Ruth, floats among the jetsam. He bears remarkable resemblance to a Reagan-era William Lucking...

Capt. Potts is here, too. He's in a blue and gray uniform...

There's the corpse of a master-at-arms, who once guarded the brig. He had a business card, in his wallet, for a certain shrink named Bob Hartley...

There's another master-at-arms here named McKnight. Rumor has it he once knew someone who was killed by a drunk driver. Their mother NEVER forgave that driver for that... It was quite maddening...

Sgt. Mac McClellan's corpse is here, too.

The corpses of Frank Lunden and Capt. Tom DeSousa are here, too. In life, Lunden was a spec-ops warrior, and DeSousa was a chief master-at-arms.

The corpse of Col. Hardcore Fleming is here, too. For him, Little Joe the Wrangler will wrangle nevermore...

The corpse of the second officer is here, too. His name was Wyatt. He sure liked wearing that kung fu robe...

The corpse of Bernie Hodges, another spec-ops warrior, floats out here, too. Rumor has it that he was a member of a cult that was illegal where he came from. So on Sundays, they met in secret...

The corpse of Sgt. Dupont is among the floating dead, too. Rumor has it that Napoleon Bonaparte is his ancestor. He's still got a cognac label taped to the back of his uniform...

Capt. Bucholtz's corpse is among the _Lynch_'s dead, too. Rumor has it he was court-martialed for raping a lot of ladies in port, in life... He was such a ladykiller...

Col. Jack Westford's corpse is among the dead, too. Alas, his corpse has already started to sink. Soon, it'll be forgotten...even if he was a full bird colonel...

The corpse of Cdr. Riker is among the dead, too. He's got business cards, in his wallet, for Boy Bill, Jake, and the Fatman…

Mangly, a spec-ops warrior, is also among the dead. He was a real bully, as well as a master-at-arms. He's got a _New Adam-12_ tattoo on his ass, which is starting to show, courtesy of the sea's waves...

The chaplain's corpse floats among the corpse, too. In life, his name was Brother Matthias. Rumor has it that his ancestor was the midwife who delivered Ruth Cleveland into the White House...

Sandy Harris, another spec-ops warrior, floats among the dead. He was born and raised in Kern County...but wasn't killed there. Back home, he was poisoned by love. It commanded him to escape it by joining the navy. Little good that's done him...

The corpses of Leland Waterman, Lt. Charles Foret, Barnes, and Lt. Roy Quinlan float here, too. Three of them were masters-at-arms. Each one's got an Agatha Christie tattoo on them. Soon, the sea will expose them...

A Captain lies among the dead. He won't likely stay dead for long. He is, after all, the Man Who Won't Die...

A bosun's mate lies among the dead. He's a giant of a man. His name was Argus. In life, he had three eyes.

The corpse of Chief Sam Burns lies here, too. He was a bosun's mate, with "I (heart) NY" tattooed to his ass, in blue.

The corpse of Marshal Junkins lies here, too. He was truly an expert, and a violator, of natural law...

The corpse of Bronson Worth is here, too. He was a spec-ops warrior. As a warrior, he murdered a lot of targets in their sleep. He was a real sleepstalker…

Capt. Shankley's corpse is here, too. In life, he specialized in break-ins. He's got a _Walker, Texas Ranger_ tattoo on his back...

Capt. Larson's corpse is here, too. He was a time-traveler from WWII.

Fitch's corpse is here, too. In life, he'd claimed to be the messiah, in chapel. The crew didn't mind, just as long as he didn't try to launch a mutiny against the _Lynch_'s captain. Otherwise, he was a bit of a sloth.

Lt. Chomsky's corpse is here, too. He was EOD. He was also a shapeshifter; a real pretender.

Thomas's corpse is here, too. He chaffed a lot, when he walked. Sometimes, as a joke, the other sailors would leave gunpowder in his groin, and have a great laugh whenever he walked, and his pants sparked aflame. He's got the term "Y2K" tattooed on his upper leg.

Weaks's corpse is among the dead, too. He was a chaplain, in life...but started out as a master-at-arms. Even so, chapel wasn't good enough to him. His superiors had plans to transfer him back to the masters-at-arms...and then THIS happened.

Stu Pope's corpse is among the dead, too. In life, he worked for the naval judge advocate general.

Buzz Larabee's corpse is among the dead, too.

Deetzer's corpse is among the dead, too. He was an attack aircraft pilot, and close air support to his crew. They called his plane Chopper One...

Esau Wakefield's corpse is among the dead, too. In life, he fought with lever-action firearms. He has a _Gunsmoke_ tattoo on his back...

Dave's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a berserker, who mimicked the rage of a Kodiak bear in battle...

Ray West's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a spec-ops warrior.

Vic Bauer's body is here, too. He's got a _Force Five_ tattoo on his arm...

Renny's body is here, too. In life, he was a corpsman's mate.

Charlie Joe Lightfoot's body is here, too. In life, he was a gay master-at-arms.

George Mallory's body is here, too. He was a prisoner in the brig.

Tom Gryce's body is here, too. In life, he was a berserker who could mimic the rage of a wild stallion in battle.

Red Kern's body is here, too. In life, he was a corpsman's mate. As a surgeon, he took way too many risks with patients...

Whitey Ullman's body is here, too. He was a corpsman's mate, too. He was especially good with a syringe.

Niles's body is here, too. In life, he was a spec-ops warrior from Colorado.

Kenyon's body is here, too. In life, he fought with lever-action firearms.

Jim Walker's body is here, too. In life, he was an alpine warrior, and was good with shotguns.

The corpses of Mike Schulte and Harlen Bates are here, too. In life, they were irradiated supersoldiers, who became super-strong when they lost their temper.

Robert Alan Kline's body is here, too. In life, he had two medals of honor...which he wore more often than the crew would've preferred. Both have sunk to bottom by now.

Gandy Dancer is here, too. In life, he was a kung fu warrior, who fought with the flexibility of a golden monkey.

Redmond's body is here, too. In life, he flew night missions on attack aircraft.

Harland Pike's body is here, too. In life, he was an outlaw in the brig.

Jack Chance's body is here, too. In life, he hunted targets, in the field, via a light tank.

Cam Wilson's body is here, too. In life, he could generate fireworks.

Frank Calovich's body is here, too. His wallet's got several false identities from it, floating around...

John Stonewell's body is here, too. In life, he was a cavalry scout, and known as the Silk Stalker. He was suave on missions, and almost never failed.

Kurt's body is here, too. In life, he was part of an airborne SAR team.

Cusak's body is also here. In life, he was one extreme avenger.

Charlie Garbett's body is here, too. In life, he could become invisible, and teleport.

The bodies of Robert McKinnon and Paul Brannen are here, too. In life, they were mutineers in the brig. They'd tried to kill the captain. They were renegades... McKinnon was called Wide Load, for using a ball-and-chain flail. With it, he nearly decapitated the captain. Now, the flail has sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Roky Crikenson's and Jose Chung's bodies are here, too. In life, they were both space warriors.

Kenny Brannigan's body is here, too. In life, he was a corpsman's mate, and a member of an ERT.

Furel's body is here, too. In life, he was a space warrior.

Ilyich Bucarin's body is here, too. In life, he was a merc, and a ronin.

Pensacola Willis's body is here, too. In life, he wore a golden-winged harness into combat.

Gibson's body is here, too. In life, he was a cavalry scout. He had a bad habit of profiling what he found, and often confusing the ship's command.

Patrick Rafferty's and Harry Drax's bodies are here, too. They both worked for the naval judge advocate general.

Byron Metcalf's body is here, too. In life, he was known as the Red Dragon, and could generate fire as such.

Clyde Parker's body is here, too. In life, he was a rifleman. In this battle, he was among the first who Gatorella slaughtered.

Gus Evans's body is here, too. In life, he commanded a marine division.

Harrad-Sar's body is here, too. In life, he was a space warrior.

Rolly Nadeer's body is here, too. In life, he was an Indian with superspeed.

Gorn's body is here too. In life, he could change into fire, and fly. They called him the Night Stalker.

Piney Winston's body is here, too. In life, he was an anarchist merc.

James Harbach's body is here, too. In life, he was a merc and assassin.

Franklin T. Hildred's corpse is among the dead, too. He was a JAG officer.

Among the jetsam, a movie poster for _Stripes_ floats. Rumor has it that it once hung in a recruitment station...

Among the flotsam of the _Decker_, things don't look much better. A giant of a master-at-arms floats among the dead. Before his career aboard the _Decker_ began, he was a sapper.

Lt. Huck's body is also among the dead. As a naval aviator, he was a bit of a misfit. As a matter of fact, he was a bit of a black sheep...

Otis Fiskle's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a gay male amazon... He still wears his one-piece, legless, sleeveless, strapless, Vietnamese-flag-themed towel...

Brad's corpse floats here, too. In life, he was an irradiated supersoldier, who became super-strong when he was angry...

Harley's corpse floats here, too. In life, he was a supersoldier; Capt. Nam, to be more specific. His discus-like shield, which was styled after the Vietnamese flag, has long-sunk to the sea floor...

The corpses of Maga and Bootes float here, too. In life, they were both space warriors...

Zachary, a Macahan, also floats among the dead. In life, he was a bit of a scavenger. He'd won five Purple Heart medals. He carried lever-action firearms into battle...

Weasel's among the KIA, too. Unbeknownst to his crew, he was a KKK man, on patrol...

Stevens is among the dead, too. He could generate energy.

Col. Glass is among the dead, too. Like a half-zebra, he had stripes tattooed over half of his body.

Lt. Barnes's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a speedster.

Lt. Decker's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a master-at-arms who guarded the brig.

The corpses of Vernon Gray and Christopher Stone lie here, too. In life, Gray was a marine that could transform into a phoenix; some of his final ashes are still strewn around his corpse. Stone wore an exosuit. His corpse is still clad in the parts of it that remain un-splintered...

Simon Rafferty's flotsam lies among the debris. He was a warbot. They called him the Automan. His kill tactics were very elaborate...

Col. Paul Stark is among the dead, too. In life, the commanded a battalion of amphibious tanks. He had a good memory.

J.J. Bogan's among the dead, too. He was slain with a lot of candy in his trousers. It floats around him, among the jetsam... In life, he was an aircraft crewman.

Tony Blacke's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a dark magus.

A General's corpse lies among the dead. It's unclear as to why he was here, or why he didn't trump Tran's spotlight when he could've. Either way, he's got an Iron Eagle tattoo.

Gen. Mills is also among the dead. He's in the buff, having been in the spa when the _Decker_ was scuttled. He really oved that spa... The sledgehammer that he once used to love to use as a weapon has long-sank to the sea floor...

Hornet is among the dead, too. In life, he wore an exosuit that allowed him to shrink, fly, and fight like a hornet. One day, he would've had an air force at his command...if he wasn't dead, among the _Decker_'s crew...

Roger McCabe's corpse is here, too. He was a merc from Saskatchewan; he's got its flag tattooed on his left pectoral. On his other, he's got Agatha Christie tattooed there.

Col. Buck Greene is among the dead, too. He's got a _Magnum, P.I._ tattoo on his back. Near him, the corpse of Agent John Newton floats...

Alamo Joe Rogan's here, too. In life, he could turn into a lobo when he was angry. Now that he's dead, his corpse has found macabre balance between the man and lobo...

Capt. K'Temoc's corpse is here, too. He was a space warrior, and an emissary.

Rev. Bates's corpse is here, too. He was a chaplain. His messages did anything from cause his sheep to have nightmares, to dream of creepy beaches...

Bull Bodine's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a master-at-arms. A toy jack-in-the-box floats near him. Its neck has been broken...

Col. Kennedy's corpse is here, too. In life, he commanded three angry marine majors. Their corpses float all around his...

Chief Thorpe's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a bosun's mate. He could generate and control darkness. This came in aid a lot, especially during beach assaults...

Roy Stoner's corpse is here, too. He was a mutineer in the brig, awaiting trial. He's still got scars, from where a bear once mauled him, in North Carolina...

Agent Jack Daniels's corpse is here, too. In life, he worked the night watch aboard the _Decker_. At port, he guzzled more whiskey than he could retain. He always hated it, that Tennessee has no coastline...

Kirby's corpse is here, too. In life, he could generate and control silence...

Maj. Manson's corpse is here, too. In life, he commanded a spec-ops troop.

A bison calf's carcass is here, too. His name was Junior.

Chief Tugger's corpse is here, too. In life, he flew a flying jeep. His transport sure came in handy during beach landings...

Cletus McNabb's corpse is here, too. In life, he could turn into a sasquatch. And he was from Saskatchewan.

An Oregon flag floats among the flotsam. This was NEVER flown at the stern, just to be clear...

The jetsam of a warbot floats among the debris. In life, his hands contained dual machines that printed fistfuls of yen.

A Judas goat's carcass floats among the dead. In life, his name was Matthew.

Doc Palmer's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a corpsman aboard the _Decker_. He was also a surgeon. Alas, most of the procedures he performed on fellow sailors were VERY risky...

Warren's corpse is here, too. In life, he fought with bolas. For that, they called him the Swinger.

The bodies of Lench, Bill Klein, and Dennis Graham are here, too. In life, they were gay male masters-at-arms.

The bodies of Stone and Phil D'Agosto are here, too. In life, they were mercs. They've both got _Rockford Files_ tattooed on their backs...

Kaufman's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a gunner's mate. Many tight spots, he once fought his way out of...

Mel Drew's body is here, too. In life, he was a master-at-arms. Many war criminals, he threw in the brig...

Charles Stanton's body is here, too. In life, he was an alpine warrior. He's got a Donner Pass tattoo on his midriff.

Flagg's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a time-traveler from the 25th century.

Travis's corpse is here, too. In life, he could re-size himself to ten times his own height. At this height, he and Gatorella initially had a good fight. Clearly, though, Gatorella won. Travis's corpse resumed his normal size upon death.

Randall McGraw's corpse is here, too. He was a kung fu warrior, who fought with the flexibility of a golden monkey.

Andrew Hodge's body is here, too. In life, he was a prisoner in the brig, for attacking the bosun with a kayak paddle.

Chance McGill's body is here, too. In life, he wore an exosuit, with which he could re-size himself to a ten thousandth his size. Pieces of this exosuit still cling to parts of his corpse...

Scott Perot's body is here, too. In life, he worked for the naval judge advocate general. He was from California.

Among the jetsam, a paperback copy of Robert Lewis Stevenson's _Kidnapped_ floats. Victor Nardi's portrait, on the cover, bears alarming resemblance to Lance LeGault...

Also among the jetsam, a framed painting of Andrew Jackson floats. He, too, bears alarming resemblance to Lance LeGault...

And finally, the wreckage of the _Crane_ doesn't look much better. Over here, Sgt. Mark Walters is among the KIA.

Dr. Fred Walters is here, too. He was a corpsman.

Cross's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a spec-ops warrior.

Lloyd Green's corpse is here, too. He was a cook in the galley.

Lt. Danvers is here, too. He's got Dolly Parton's tattoo on his upper leg...

Father Phil's corpse is here, too. He was a chaplain's mate.

Dr. Willoughby's corpse is here, too. He's got an _ALF_ tattoo on his back. In life, he was a space surgeon.

Col. Rawlins's corpse is here, too. He's got an eagle eye tattoo on the back of his head...

Sgt. Deveraux is here, too. In life, he had a medal, which he won at the Battle of Lang Mei.

Rooker's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a spec-ops warrior. In battle, he was quite the berserker. He had the heat of passion...

Gil Robbins's corpse is here, too. He's got a Roseanne tattoo on his upper leg...

The ship's cannon, the main one on the forecastle, has already sunk to bottom. The crew of the _Crane_ called it Wild Wilson. They also had a spare cannon, which they would've called Great Garth. It landed somewhere near the Wild Wilson, when it sank to bottom.

Tannehill's corpse is here, too. He was a prisoner in the _Crane_'s brig. He could generate fire...with which he used to murder a bosun's mate when both lost their tempers.

Ed Thomas's corpse is here, too. He was a purser.

Crosby's corpse is here, too. In life, he was an irradiated supersoldier, who could become super-strong when he lost his temper.

Steve's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a corpsman's mate.

Joshua Brown's corpse is here, too. In life, he carried a golden SAW into battle. It now lies on the sea floor, among the two cannons and the sledgehammer.

Roger Orloff's corpse is here, too. In life, he could travel into and between mirrors and windows. He could even travel into and through the sea's surface... He had a special obsidian mirror that he used as a weapon. It now lies at the sea floor bottom, between the two cannons...

Paul Cooper's corpse is here, too. In life, he was a scout-sniper. He was quite gifted with camouflage...

Icarus Ray's corpse is here, too. In life, he could control air, and generate storms.

David Burrell's corpse is here, too. In life, he could generate illusions.

Beckworth's corpse is here, too. He was a time-traveler from the year 2120.

Fletcher's corpse is here, too. He was a diver.

On a scrap of the Decker's hull, Hannibal Tran struggles to stay afloat. If he wasn't sure that it'd take more than a three-ship navy to take on Gatorella...he is now.

High above him, Gatorella stands tall, fangs bared, and claws slashing and generating sparks, as he slashes them against one another. As spent as the navy is, this isn't over...

All wet, Hannibal heaves a sigh. Needless to say he's in deep shit...both figuratively and literally.


	17. Chapter 17

Like a god of lizards and crocodilians, Gatorella glares down at Hannibal Tran, shamed and defeated. Just a man, Hannibal is trapped among the excessive flotsam and jetsam of the _Lynch_, the _Decker_, and the _Crane_.

I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY, HANNIBAL, Gatorella says telepathically. JUST LISTEN, AND I WILL PROMISE YOU A DEAL SO GREAT, IT WILL SEND YOUR HERO CAREER THROUGH THE ROOF. THAT..._IS_ WHAT YOU HUMANS CALL THE TOPS OF YOUR STRUCTURES, IS IT NOT?

"One way or another," Hannibal spats, "I will slay you, Gatorella! All of Austroasia will see my self-worth for what it is! I will gladly die for who I love!"

LOOK AROUND YOU. DOES THE MESS YOU'VE MADE RESEMBLE THE LEGACY OF A MAN WITH A HEART?

Hannibal looks around. "They all had families," he spits. "You took them away from them!"

AND YOUR FAMILY? DOES THAT NOT MATTER MORE?

"SCREW FAMILIES! I ran away from mine when I was a boy! All they ever do is make things worse! They never get better! There's no such place as home! God forbid if anyone ever changes my mind!"

Gatorella scratches his chin with his claw. Hannibal sighs, as he clings to the piece of ship he's trapped on. Why doesn't the monster just kill him already? Where's the monster when you need him?

I AM NOT A GOD, Gatorella admits. BUT I THINK MAYBE THERE'S A CHANCE I CAN CHANGE YOUR MIND."

Hannibal scoffs. "About what, exactly?"

WELL, FOR ONE THING... ME.

Hannibal looks up at him, confused.

YOU WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG, HANNIBAL TRAN. I AM YOUR DESTINY. JUST NOT THE ONE YOU'VE BEEN TAUGHT TO EXPECT."

With that, Gatorella flexes his muscles, and generates an illusion from his hands. The illusion surrounds them, and the sea, the flotsam, and the jetsam all fades...

Hannibal is now a slave, in chain mail drawers. He holds a claymore. Around him, cliffs tower, and the soil is warm and red. He looks around, trembling...

A dragon wanders into his midst. Its scales are copper. His eyes glow red. Hannibal's heart freezes in his chest.

"Tell me, Hannibal," the dragon speaks, "which version of this vision do you prefer? This one..."

A whirlwind surrounds Hannibal, and takes him into the POV of the dragon. Through the canyon, he can see the mail-clad peasant he was, trembling, with a sword and shield in hand.

"Or this one?"

The vision changes again. Hannibal looks around. He looks like Charles Darwin. And his surroundings look like the island of Komodo.

Near him, many female Komodo dragons feast on a carcass. Banded sea kraits crawl out of it, as they feast.

Just above Darwin/Hannibal, a male of the species lumbers up, and rests atop a rock. He startles Hannibal, when the latter acknowledges him. The great monitor licks his clawed hand. Banded sea kraits crawl from his mouth, as he does.

"You could have a harem of me," the male dragon says, "if you'd like. Sex with them would be exquisite. Would you believe me if I told you that the female Komodo dragon has TWO pussies?"

Hannibal gapes.

"Don't get excited, though; one would be too small for your cock. It only reproduces asexually, see."

Hannibal sighs. "Well... You're certainly no salesman."

"Reluctantly, I am the ruler of the South China Sea. Theoretically, you could command a battalion...or a destroyer at sea. But of course, why assemble the manpower, when you could just as easily BE the manpower?"

The vision changes again. Hannibal is surrounded by 243 clones of himself. They're all armed with .243-caliber lever action rifles, and dressed in red robes.

"You could command 243 privates and privates first class in a marine battalion," one of the clones imagines.

"In the other sitch," another clone of him says to him, "you'd command the same number of recruits, apprentices, and seamen aboard a destroyer. Their armament would be different," the lever-action rifles transform into shotguns, "but they would still all answer to you."

The vision changes again. Hannibal's standing in a bayou in Louisiana. He's dressed in white, blue, and silver, and holding a menorah.

Nearby, an alligator leaps, and bites his hand off. He looks around, and sees that he's surrounded by alligators.

One rises, and speaks to him. "This is your chance, Hannibal Tran. This is your chance to become all you can be."

"You will finally find balance," a lovely Frenchwoman in a nearby airboat tells him, caressing the water with her soft hand, "between your need to be a law-abiding citizen of Roman Austroasia, and your desire to die for the people." She adjusts her top. "Even if the ladies would miss you..."

The vision changes again. It seems to take longer, this time around...

Hannibal's in a Malaysian jungle. It's nighttime. A purple moon glows through the trees. Not a frog sings. Instead, new age music can be heard through the shadows...

From a pool nearby, a green water dragon surfaces...like Ducky's grand entrance in _the Land Before Time_... If anyone would call that grand...

"All you need," it says, in a squeaky voice, "is the faith of a mustard seed." He looks around. "Or in this case, a green water dragon."

Hannibal looks around, and sighs. "I don't know..."

"This could be your life," the green water dragon tells him. "All you've got to do is ask Gatorella, king of the South China Sea, to be your lord and savior...so that he can become Roman Austroasia's...and, just possibly, DeJarro's doomsday!"

Hannibal sighs, bends over, and cups his hands. He takes some water up into them.

The green water dragon leaps, and splashes into his hands. Without spilling a drop, Hannibal stands, and smiles down into the pool before him.

"You can do it, Hannibal," the wee dragon says. "Just let go of everything, and let Gatorella become half of it."

Without trying to, Hannibal rears back, and releases his entire soul. It spews out of him, and cloaks Gatorella's vision.

Hannibal wakes. Beneath him, the South China Sea passes. Algae breeds. The sun shines...

On an island ahead, there's a solar farm. A dragon, resembling Gatorella, flies in circles around it. He blows fire around it. The solar cells collect the fire's light, and cause several light bulbs in Guangdong to spike.

WELL DONE, a voice inside Hannibal's voice tells him. NOW WE ARE ONE.

"All right," Hannibal says, in his mind. "Let's giddy on up, and get DeJarro to giddy on out of Ho Chi Minh City!"

With that, Hannibal ascends, roars, and breathes a big breath of fire. At long last, Roman Austroasia's favorite hero has FINALLY put his full self-worth on display. And with that said, DeJarro had better beware...


	18. Chapter 18

Deeper in the Cambodian jungles, there are ancient ruins. Once, the Khmers ruled a vast empire, from this spot.

This is the tomb of Sat Arun. Once, he was a great merc and marine. They made many donations to his tomb, for as long as it took for his children's children's generation to forget him. They've...also stored some weaponry in here; ancient, and from more recent military experimentation.

Capt. Mendoza, a protégé of Gen. DeJarro, has come to raid the tomb. He's come dressed to invade, and totes his Mendozan flag-themed shield for the occasion.

Charles Lake, a failed actor and down-and-out diver, has also come to help raid the tomb. He has a history...as Ms. O'Hannorhan's lover.

"Just how much water is there," Lake asks, "in this Sat Arun's tomb?"

"Don't be so paranoid," Stoddard, the supersoldier face behind Capt. Mendoza, says, as he stocks his carbine with ammo. "Water or none, I'm sure we'll find some use for you. The Caudillo believes in you. Thus, I do...whether I want to or not."

Lake scoffs. "Think I was better off in Ms. O'Hannorhan's arms..."

They break into the tomb. Before long, they're standing over a void.

Stoddard flashes a bullwhip, and uses it to swing across the chasm. He loosens the whip, and throws it back to Lake, allowing him to repeat his own feat.

Lake does...with less grace. He nearly falls into the chasm. Stoddard grabs him, and his whip. He hauls the first to safety, and loosens the other and hangs it back on his harness.

Stoddard collects his shield, which he threw across the chasm to get over it, and leads with it. He wears nightvision goggles, for the dark.

In a hole in the dark, a spot-bellied eagle-owl watches them. He isn't Dr. Mid-Nite's owl...but it'd sure be nice if he was...for Capt. Mendoza and Lake.

In another hole, a hog badger rests. Time has taught him how to become immune to all the traps in this tomb. That, and Capt. Mendoza isn't the first to have raided this place. He's seen them fall, and he's learned from their fallings...enough to settle in here, if not enough to steal what's in here.

In an underground lake, a fishing cat plays around with a fish he's caught. He hears people coming, dives back into the depths, and swims away...

Stoddard and Lake arrive. Stoddard beams. "Ah! You're in luck, Lake!" He attaches the shield to his back. "We DO get to cave-dive, after all..."

Lake caresses his own abs. "Not sure if I'm ready for this..."

"Ah, come on." Stoddard changes into his diving clothes. "It's not like there are zombies and vampires swimming down there, right?"

Lake swallows hard. "Sure hope so..."

Before long, they're all submerged, and wearing both nightvision goggles and re-breathers. They dive deep, and they dive far. This time, Lake gets to take the lead. Stoddard follows.

Here and there, a water dragon swims past. They're small lizards. Unbeknownst to Stoddard and Lake, Hannibal Tran once imagined Gatorella as one...

Like great eels, Burmese pythons swim through. Lucky for the duo, they don't seem very hungry, or wary of trespassers.

Playfully, some otters swim through. There are smooth-coated, small-clawed, hairy-nosed, and feral European otters. They sure like to play. Lake's almost inspired. Some of them remind him of how fun it once was, to share a bed with Ms. O'Hannorhan.

Alas, his thoughts of sex with Ms. O'Hannorhan are doused, as a Chinese alligator swims past. He stays to the surface...but even so, he's a bit of a fright to behold. Good thing he's an alligator; if he were a crocodile, he wouldn't give Lake or Stoddard any warning before charging them. Plus, he'd charge faster.

For once, Lake's thankful the gator isn't Gatorella. He'll soon be indifferent to such matters...

Soon, Stoddard and Lake get to a lake on the other side of the cave. Stoddard surfaces first, takes off his shield, and throws it, lie a discus, around the place. Darts fly, from everywhere within the walls, bouncing off the shield. Stoddard wades to shore and smiles, as he catches the shield in mid-flight.

Lake wades to shore, and once again covers the rear. Sat's arsenal shouldn't be too far away, now...if they can get into it without getting stuck by another trap.

Behind them, the lake waters become still. Alas, not entirely so...

A black caiman surfaces, and peers around. He's an Argentinian import...that DeJarro, more or less, forgot to tell his errand boys about...


	19. Chapter 19

Once again, with the shield at point, Capt. Mendoza leads his companion down another tunnel. This one's deeper and darker. At any moment, Lake expects to get pounced on by a trap...or something with MUCH more teeth...

At last, they set foot into a chamber. The place is littered with piles of gunpowder...as well as piles of old-fashioned swords and shields.

Up in the vaults, a cougar sleeps. He seems to be ANOTHER import from Argentina he's forgotten to tell his errand boys about...

Lake takes up an old broadsword, and slides it out of its scabbard. He scoffs, at how ordinary it seems, in contrast to an HK416 carbine. He drops it. "Some arsenal. The black market's probably forgotten all about this tomb."

"Ah, don't be so greedy," Stoddard demands. "They'd hide all of the good stuff in all the more eye-catching relics."

There's a helmet among them, that's shaped like a wildcat's head. It reminds Stoddard of Wildcat, a JSA hero in DC Comics...

Stoddard smiles, as he notices that the helmet's visor is down. He takes up the helmet, reaches inside the visor, and pulls a vial out.

Stoddard smiles, and ogles the serum with an envious eye. He knows it; it's a supersoldier serum...not too different from the stuff that's already in him.

Meanwhile, taking Stoddard's advice, Lake finds a gauntlet. It's shaped like a caiman's foot. It's even webbed like one...via mail armor. The rest of the armor is scale...save the claws on each finger, which are dagger-like.

Lake takes a deep breath, turns the gauntlet opening-down, and shakes it. He's just in time to catch a vial, as it falls from the gauntlet.

Behind him, Stoddard looks here and there, with devious eyes. He smiles, engages a needle at the base of the vial, and jabs the needle into himself.

In the vaults, the cougar wakes. He yawns and stretches atop the buttress he's atop. He then looks down upon Stoddard, and narrows his feline eyes...

Timid, Lake inoculates himself with the other serum he's found. It causes him to bellow...like a caiman...

All around, the tomb reels and rocks. A quake's coming. Either that, or a chain reaction's been set in motion. Somehow, it seems to have to do with the two serums that've been taken...

Aloft, the cougar sits up, crouches, and leaps from the buttress. He becomes less tangible as he falls. He lands all around Stoddard, with his entire body, and merges himself with the enhanced supersoldier in gestation...

All around, the gunpowder kegs are made uneasy. They explode. Using the tunnel as a cannon bore, Lake is fired right from it, and is punted right over the chamber just outside...where Capt. Mendoza's shield had just discus-flown moments before.

Lake then has a Capt. Hook moment, when he looks down, and sees a caiman opening its jaws, to receive him, on the way down. The black caiman is still in the lake.

The caiman snatches the falling supersoldier test subject in his jaws, and dives. Beneath the surface, the three are merged; the serum, Lake, and the black caiman.

Farther out, the entrance to Sat Arun's tomb caves in. The easy way out is now no longer accessible...to a normal human.

Atop a cliff nearby, a sloth bear watches, as the tomb shakes to a standstill. Soon, all is calm. He can tell. He yawns, lumbers away, and finds a tree with spiky bark. He stands, leans up against the tree trunk via his back, and starts scratching. Damn, he loves jungle life. Too bad he doesn't have a man-cub to share it with...


	20. Chapter 20

The Baracas's lair is filled with machine tools, machinery, and goldsmithery equipment. There are great anvils for it.

In the corner, the vast majority of a black GMC van, with a red stripe on both sides, sits. The Baracus sometimes uses its parts to enhance himself... (Don't ask, if you don't want to know.)

After a long hunt, the Baracus comes back inside. He's tired...but even in fatigue, he can be deadly. Just ask any of the otters he's pancaked with his paws.

At the very end of his tail, a gold chain is tied. Like a club, he inadvertently hits it against all the walls leading into his lair. When he does, a certain blonde bimbo in a gold bikini squeals. She's been tied to the end of his tail, via this gold chain...

It's Ms. O'Hannorhan. Like a stray mouse running wild in the Khmer jungles, she's been caught.

In the center of his lair, the Baracus stands. He yawns, humps his back, and raises the fur atop it. He also swings his tail, shaking the gold chain loose.

Like a pebble, Ms. O'Hannorhan screams, as she's flung across the lair. She hits a gong, and makes it ring. The lair shakes, like a quake. Dazed, Ms. O'Hannorhan slides down from the gong's center, and lands on the surface of an anvil...on her bum.

It's a very nice bum. The Baracus is going to have a lot of fun tormenting it, along with the rest of her bikini-clad body...

In a tunnel opening above, Face crawls forth, on his chest. He peers around. He sees Ms. O'Hannorhan, lying helplessly on one of the Baracus's anvils, frightfully awaiting her fate. Naturally, Face is tempted to shout...

He's awkwardly cut off, as Tia Fullbright pounces on Face's back, inadvertently wedging the back of his head inside her boobs, and covering his mouth with her hands. She places her mouth to his ear, and shushes him.

"I only FEED that bastard cat," Ms. Fullbright whispers. "I don't tame him. Nobody can. That's how he is."

Face heeds a wall mural in the lair, of a set of army sergeant first class's stripes. "Looks like he wasn't always so..."

"Don't kid yourself. Sergeants slug officers in the gut all the time, in any army."

Face scoffs. "Not from where I come from, they don't."

"Yeah, well, it's a crazy demographic. Look, I'm going to distract the monstrous cat while you save the girl. Can you do that?"

Face studies her. "I'd...hate for you to die doing this."

"Look, I don't have a choice. DeJarro's been making me do this since my pubescence. And this is just the most boring thing he's made me do."

Face acknowledges a few whip scars, on Ms. Fulbright's lower back. "Oh, I...I think I can imagine."

Ms. Fulbright stares at him. "Are you staring at my butt?!"

"What?! No, no! Ms. O'Hannorhan's my... I can't really say I'm COMMITTED to her, but..."

"Never mind. Just go down there, and be in position when I start running the bluff. The Baracus likes to take his time with young women, but you never know with monsters like him."

Face sighs, and looks down upon the Baracus. "Such a gorgeous creature. Such a shame it serves such an awful man..."

"Templeton!"

Face nods, and leaves the cave, leaving Ms. Fulbright be. In his absence, she prepares the distraction...

Rumbling like thunder, the Baracus turns towards the anvil, and approaches the tiny girl atop it. His pawsteps make thunder, as he ascends the stepped dais leading up to the anvil...

Whimpering, Ms. O'Hannorhan crawls backwards across its surface. Like a bimbo, she accidentally falls off the back end when she gets to it.

The Baracus catches her, by the bikini bottom, via one of his claws. He holds her over his face.

Gaping down, Ms. O'Hannorhan trembles more than ever. She thins she's going to spill twenty-three different fluids at once...

Alas, an arrow flies, and sticks itself into the Baracus's gold collar. It hits the latch perfectly, causing the collar to fall off his neck, and hit the ground, with thunder.

The Baracus hesitates. He spins Ms. O'Hannorhan around, like a lasso via her panties, with his claw, and tosses her away. She lands in a smelting pot for smelted gold.

"Hey! You! Pantero! Up here!"

The Baracus turns, towards the Austronesian bitch who's dared unhinge his collar. He steps on said collar, as he approaches the spot beneath which Ms. Fulbright stands, running her bluff.

"I think it's about time we had a talk," she yells down, "about us. All these years, I've been feeding you. I've let you tease me. I've let you hold me over a pot of smelted gold by my panties. Hell, I've even tolerated your cat breath, while you threatened to eat me like the mouse you think I am! Well guess what, pussycat? I'm no mouse! I'M A RELIC FUCKING HUNTER...!"

Behind the Baracus, in the smelting pot, Ms. O'Hannorhan trembles, pulling her panties back up, after what the Baracus just did to them. It's scary in here. She sure hopes the smelting furnaces don't turn themselves on by mistake...or however these work...

Face isn't sure how he gets into the pot with her...but he does. After announcing himself to her, he throws a rope.

Ms. O'Hannorhan stumbles, and makes a lot of noise as she's trying to climb out. The hinges that this pot hangs from have seen better days. Face is petrified; even so, he knows better manners than to leave a damsel in distress...in distress.

Ms. Fulbright stands in the cave opening, still running her bluff. Below her, the Baracus rears, and shows her his fangs. As big and sharp as they are, Ms. Fulbright doesn't yield. She's a relic huntress; she doesn't scare that easily.

The Baracus repeatedly tries to pancake Ms. Fulbright with his paw. Alas, the Relic Huntress is fast, as well as Ali Wong-mouthed.

Squealing, Ms. O'Hannorhan swings onto Face's back...and hangs petrified, as she views the long drop, beneath her. Face wouldn't tell her, but she's heavy. But at least her hooters feel great, against his back. Like a hanging goat, he starts taking the baby-steps necessary to get out of this life-hanger...

Above, a chain snaps. Ms. O'Hannorhan screams, and stupidly gives both her and Face away, as the chain above, and all of the other smelting pots hanging from it, drag themselves to the floor.

Face leaps, and barely escapes a harder landing. He rolls across the floor. More bouncy with more body fat, Ms. O'Hannorhan bounces even farther.

Face pants, and looks up. He reaches his arm towards Ms. O'Hannorhan.

She sees him. She crawls towards him, and reaches out her arm...

Alas, the Baracus saw this, and lays a huge paw atop Ms. O'Hannorhan's bum. From it, he flexes his claws. Like an arch, the sharp point of one comes down right in front of Ms. O'Hannorhan's face. She screams.

Terrified, Face looks up, into the terrifying cat-like gaze of the Baracus. The great cat-like beast lowers his face, and narrows his lit green eyes.

"I PITY THE FOOL," he roars, with his famous and infamous roar.

Where they are, Face and Ms. O'Hannorhan both tremble. This could, indeed, be both of their ends...


	21. Chapter 21

Now, Face and Ms. O'Hannorhan are in a tight spot. The Baracas has got them both hilariously pinned to the floor of his lair...

Above, Ms. Fulbright isn't sure what to do. She's...never had to do this before, actually...

From above, the ceiling caves in. This causes the Baracus to look up, and back away...

When he does, he takes his paw off Ms. O'Hannorhan's bum. She's still petrified. With the threat passed, Face crawls over to her, and takes her by the arm. They both stand, and run...as the lair collapses, all around them.

Boulders and stalactites fall from the ceiling. Too many of them come dangerously close to crushing them both.

One rolls by...and broadsides Face. Ms. O'Hannorhan stops in her tracks, and screams.

When she finds him, he's pinned. She tries, in vain, to push it off him. Alas, she's not sure if she can...

Via a whip, Ms. Fulbright swings forth, and attends to them. She puts on a jeweled gauntlet; a relic that she once nicked from her "other" job. She aims the jewels at the rock, and waits. On her fist the jewels light up, and...

They shatter the rock to bits, freeing Face. Thankfully, Face can still run. He hoists Ms. O'Hannorhan over his shoulder, and follows Ms. Fulbright out of the lair.

Outside, a spectacle has unfolded. The jungle has become host to an epic fight: full-out Gatorella vs. the Baracus…

Gatorella is the reason the Baracus's lair has collapsed...which, also makes him partly responsible for Face's recent near-demise... But then, Hannibal Tran was always a bit of a misogynist back when he was just a human hero, so it makes sense that that demise was undone, and prevented, by a bitchy Tia Carrere lookalike... But then, Gatorella also inadvertently saved both Face and Ms. O'Hannorhan from the Baracus, so...it's more of a give-and-take, on Gatorella's part. And give-and-take, of course, is the ONLY thing better than take-and-no-give. It leaves neither a signature, nor a void.

Just outside the Baracus's now-ruined lair, the trio watches in awe, and a bit of concern, as the water dragon and the great gold-collared black panther fight one another to a standstill. Alas, this is probably going to take more time than the trio has to stay out here.

But then, their main cause to rush things has, it seems, since been abandoned. Without the Baracus to threaten them, the only threats that're still here to combat, or avoid, are themselves, and the natural hazards of the jungle around them...which the Baracus, before, made seem like jokes.

Ah; except there is ONE other threat, besides those, that probably deserves addressing. And as memory serves, they're still gestating under a pile of rubble, alone in the jungle, where a warrior's tomb once stood...


End file.
